The Cost Of Kisses
by DarkeStar
Summary: PercyOliver. The war continues, mysterious letters are received, feelings are exposed, time passes, roles become even more undefined, and heroes and villains are sometimes different sides to the same coin. WiP! See Chap 00 for info.
1. 00: Story Info, Important

Title: The Cost of Kisses

Author: Darkestar

Status: Incomplete

Category: Action; Adventure; Other Assorted

Spoilers: Know the books, just in case.

Sequel/Season Info: No sequels, prequels, etc.

Rating: PG-13 to R to be safe

Warnings: Language perhaps, minor violence; Each chapter will contain warnings if contents of chapter make it necessary.

Summary: The war continues, mysterious letters are received, feelings are exposed, time passes, roles become even more undefined, and heroes and villains are sometimes different sides to the same coin.

Disclaimer: I do not own them (the characters, environment, concept) but I do own the plot and the ideas herein and any original characters I may add.

Notes: This is an alternate universe, meaning that it is set in Oliver and Percy's seventh year somewhere near the end. There is no mention of time passing between scenes, so that leaves it up to the reader to decide if things happen one night after the other or over a series of nights spread out. This is from Oliver's point of view, first person. Many thanks go out to my wonderful beta, Erif.

Additional Notes: Reposted March 2007 with some editing. No beta reader now.

My fanfic group will likely see new parts of this long before this site does. The link for my group can be found in my profile.


	2. 01: Cost of Kisses

AN: 7th year; Gryffindor boy dorms – the room being set up with the two beds only and two desks for study and work. I realize, as well, that a carnival or anything of the kind did not in fact happen and very likely would not happen at Hogwarts. It is a plot device. (Edited March 07)

* * *

The Cost Of Kisses

* * *

"_Nobody will buy kisses from Percy Weasley."_

"_And why not?"_

"_Because he's Percy Weasley."_

I sigh and look across the quiet room to where the boy in question is taking notes for Potions. His usually tame hair is wild tonight, too many idle moments of thought find him playing with it; his robes are loose, half open, revealing the shirt underneath. After a moment of thought he scratches something onto the parchment, then nibbles on the tip of his quill without thinking.

Normally he's much more aware of his surroundings and prolonged study of him isn't possible. I imagine it comes from years of Fred and George. But when he gets this into his studying – and when he's somewhere he feels is safe and in company he feels comfortable with – it's possible to do more than watch in glancing.

His brothers are wrong. I smile. I would buy kisses from Percy Weasley.

Of course, I'd rather not have to buy them, I'd rather they be given freely…

"_But it's tradition-."_

"_Tradition-smishen._ _Come on, Ol. We want to raise money, not lose it."_

I guess I can see where the twins are coming from, and the rest of the team as well (as I noticed they weren't too quick to defend Percy or the tradition that Head Boy and Head Girl work the kissing booth). But on the other hand I can't. For Merlin's sake, they live with Perce. Why can't they see how wonderful he is?

"_Because he's Percy Weasley."_

All right, granted, he may not seem like much right now. Half of it is just undeveloped and the other half is carefully hidden away from the high spirits of his family. But I haven't been the Quidditch Captain four years without being able to see potential, and Percy Weasley is nothing but potential.

Percy glances over at me, brow furrowed in concentration and puzzlement, slight concern. "Is something wrong, Ol?"

I shake my head. "Not much." Except I've been caught looking.

"Then why are you staring at my back?"

"Uh, I kind of spaced out. Can I ask you a question?"

He turns and gives me his complete attention. Those eyes focusing so intently on me are almost always more than I can bear. I'm sure he can see right through me, know what I'm thinking, what I'm wanting. That could be dangerous.

"Well, uh…"

That slow smile curls onto his lips, one that says he's more than a bit amused by the situation. "My, my, what could have Oliver Wood so lost for words?"

The smile does nothing to help. Maybe it's just me in my Percy obsession but there's almost nothing sexier than those dark eyes focusing on me and those amazing lips twisted up in a smile that leads to thoughts better left for cold showers and lazy mornings when Perce has gone off to do what he does.

"Come on, Ol, is something bothering you?"

I shake my head; turn back to my own Potion notes. I've only done a page or two of reading, have less than half a page of notes, and the notes should be at least -stressing at least- 12 pages on 40 pages of reading. Really the work is light, I just can't concentrate.

Warm hands settle on my shoulders and I just know that Perce is leaning over my seated form to look at what I've done so far. I don't even have to look up to know there's that small scowl on his face. "This is all you've done? He gave us two days to work on it."

"I know. I just can't focus."

He squeezes my shoulders lightly with hands much stronger than they appear. "Are you upset about something?"

"Not really."

"Well, would you like to talk about whatever it is that's not really bothering you?"

I turn my head to look at him and I'm surprised by how close he actually is to me, although leaning on my shoulders as he is I really shouldn't be. I can practically taste his breath, feel it washing over my skin, across my half parted lips, and there's nothing more that I want to do in the moment than close that small distance between us and find out if he tastes as sweet as he appears he would.

He licks his lips, looking down at my face, and then murmurs my name.

"Yes?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed."

"Fixed by what?"

Sometimes you just have to take a leap…

I smile and bring my hands up to cup his cheeks, startling him, but he doesn't pull away from me. He just watches with questions burning in his eyes. I very carefully take his glasses off and study his face.

"You look nice without the glasses."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

That slow smile again. My pulse quickens and I force myself to breathe evenly. He's probably noticed, though. He's observant. Nothing ever escapes him. Unless he's buried in homework, and even then sometimes…

I often wonder how his brothers get away with half the stuff they do. I think he lets them get away with it.

"You never answered my question, Ol. Fixed by what?"

"Fixed by…" I slide my hands up and touch his hair, finding it to be incredibly soft. I wonder why he hasn't protested. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Would you-." A pounding on the door interrupts me. Percy steps away, automatically reaching up to smooth his hair down and push his glasses back up his nose but I'm still holding them. There's no time to change anything because the door bursts open anyway, revealing Fred and George, grinning cheekily, mischief in their eyes.

"Hey Ol."

"We're all getting together to have a little pep rally type thing."

"To psyche us up to beat Slytherin Saturday night."

They seem to notice Percy for the first time, though I don't know how they could miss him.

"Did you ask him yet, Ol?"

…And they choose to speak to me when they could just ask him…

I shake my head. I can feel Percy's eyes on the back of my head.

"Ask me what?"

"Ask you if you'd be interested in taking a shift at the kissing booth next Saturday. We've brought back that old tradition, sponsored by the Quidditch teams, to raise money for new Quidditch supplies and taking care of the equipment, all that sort of stuff. We're hoping to boost morale and take everyone's minds off of… well, quite a few things, you know."

Percy frowns. "That's what you wanted to ask me?"

No, no it's not. But I can hardly ask you what I want with your brothers standing right there, Perce…

"What else could he possibly want to ask?" one of the twins asks.

I sigh silently and stand, Potions notes put to the back of my mind, though I'll admit they never were in the forefront to begin with. I lean against the desk.

"Well, you hardly had to-." Percy stops himself, straightening his robes a bit absently. He holds out a hand and I realize I'm still holding his glasses, fiddling with them as a matter of fact. I hand them over reluctantly. That action feels too final for the moment.

Fred, or perhaps George (I admit I have trouble telling them apart most times) lifts an eyebrow. "Did we interrupt something?"

The other one continues. "Nah, nothing _special_ anyway. Ol has better taste."

Percy's fair skin darkens considerably, though I don't think it's a blush, or at least not entirely, for he goes about methodically cleaning his glasses with white knuckled hands. "No, I would not be interested in taking a shift. Not even if the offer had been sincere."

I have to ask, me the masochist. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." He gives me a wan smile then turns and moves back to his seat. "Who would want to buy kisses from me anyway, Oliver?"

"See."

"We've already asked someone anyway, so no big deal."

I can't take my eyes off of Percy. He's picked up the quill and turned the page, but hasn't started writing yet. He speaks up after a moment. "Don't forget about the Potions test tomorrow, Oliver."

His voice is level, cool, controlled – good ol' Percy "Head Boy and Prefect" Weasley. Safe in his world of deadlines and responsibilities, tests and impeccable color coded notes, perfectly aligned scrolls and well read texts. I don't mind that world, I just sometimes wish I were a part of it. I think I'd rather like to belong to Percy Weasley.

"Well, come on Ol, what are you waiting for? It won't be a party without you."

Percy lowers his head, pulling the text close and his quill scratches along the paper after a moment. I recognize a dismissal when I see one. And this one I've certainly earned.


	3. 02: Sugar Quills and Letters

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: 7th year; Gryffindor boy dorms – the room being set up with the two beds only and two desks for study and work. I realize, as well, that a carnival or anything of the kind did not in fact happen and very likely would not happen at Hogwarts. It is a plot device. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Sugar Quills and Letters

* * *

He's sucking on the end of his quill again. I'm beginning to think that he buys those sugar quills from Hogsmeade when he visits because he does seem to be enjoying himself and I daresay a regular quill wouldn't taste very good. 

It's damn distracting, I'll tell you that much. But I wouldn't dream of asking him to stop for all the Galleons in the world.

I give up all pretense of studying the textbook in front of me, and give up trying to read the Quidditch book I've got hidden by the textbook. Instead I roll out of bed and move quietly to stand behind him, leaning in to murmur in his ear. "What ya doing, Perce?"

He jumps. I relish the moment. It's not often I catch this Weasley off guard.

"What was that, Ol?" He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes.

"I asked what you were doing, Percy. Did I catch you daydreaming about your homework again?"

He scowls up at me. "Haha, funny."

I move to my desk and snag the chair, then drag it back over to Percy's desk. Planting it on the floor with a solid thud I straddle it and cross my arms over the back. Percy spares me a glance, tossing me a half amused smile. "Becoming a permanent fixture, are you?"

"Maybe." I grin and he returns it.

"Do you need help with something?"

"Nope."

He shrugs and settles his chin in his hand, staring out into nowhere again. He's sucking on the quill again.

I eye him for a moment. "Sugar quill?"

"Hmm."

"Percy."

He looks at me again, and then holds out the quill, a slight smile on his lips.

Not exactly normal behavior, that. I don't think any of the other guys I know would just hand it over. It's too… intimate, somehow. But then again, Percy Weasley isn't like any other guy I know. And if there's anything Percy Weasley is, it's abnormal.

Wonder what it says about me – yeah, beyond the obvious that I fancy him something awful – that it seems perfectly natural to take the offered quill and taste it. A bit hesitantly, though. Percy's got the strangest sense of humor and it's hard to tell what I'll discover.

I guess I'm not exactly normal either.

Ah, sugar quill all right. I'll have to keep that in mind. Never know when that little fact will come in handy.

I give the sugar quill back and he resumes sucking on it. I have to shake my head at that, but only a little. No need for him to ask any questions.

"So, what are you thinking about?"

"A lot of things." He sighs a little, looks back at me. "How did you do on the test?"

"Good, I think. Thanks for letting me copy your notes by the way. You have this uncanny knack for knowing just what he'll be putting on the tests."

"Its called paying attention, Ol. You should try it sometime."

It's my turn to say, "Haha, funny."

"I thought so."

His voice has dropped into a low murmur. He's thinking about something important then. I causally lay an arm across the back of his chair and lean in. "What's bothering you, Percy?"

"Bothering? Nothing really, just… thinking."

"About what?"

Silently he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a tattered, rolled up piece of parchment, tied with a ribbon. I slide the ribbon off and unroll it slowly, giving him a puzzled glance. I read through it once, and then a second time, slower.

** The following information is confidential:**

** Mr. Percival weasley**

** It has been brought to the attention of the Ministry that your scholastic and magical abilities would be well suited to a specialized team working against certain dark forces. There are inherent dangers involved in this position that would require you to distance yourself from those individuals currently a part of your life. If such a position is of interest to you please send a response setting up a date for an interview to meet with a representative who will be glad to provide you with further information. Please do not discuss this correspondence with anyone, including Ministry officials. **

Slowly I roll the letter back up and put the ribbon around it, then hand it back with a half frown. I can't gauge his reaction to it, not that I'm surprised. I'm not sure how to feel myself to be honest.

It's a wonderful thing for Percy, finally being acknowledged for his hard work without it being attached to a criticism directed at a younger brother. But key phrases stand out, "inherent dangers," "dark forces," "distancing yourself," among them. It worries me. And the fact that against all the rules he's taken me into his confidence on this, well, the very idea morphs into a cold ball of dread which lodges itself somewhere in my chest.

I finally settle on saying neutrally, "Sounds suspicious if you want my opinion."

"It's official. My dad gave it to me, and he didn't look pleased about it. It was still sealed when I got it, though. Keyed seal. He wouldn't have been able to open it without setting off major alarms somewhere."

"What do you think it's all about?"

Percy puts the quill down and turns a little to look at me. "I don't know. Well, I mean I have a bit of an idea, but I'm not sure and I shouldn't say anything."

I nod toward the letter. "Judging from what I read you weren't supposed to let anyone see that."

"Well… you don't count, Ol."

"Why's that?"

"You're Oliver." He picks up the quill again and nibbles lightly on it. "You just don't."

"What are you going to do?"

"I- I don't know." He fiddles with his glasses for a moment. "I've replied already, to set up an interview. Certainly doesn't hurt to find out what it's all about. Beyond that, it's hard to say what will come of it."

"Do you know when the interview is?"

"Next Saturday."

"Oh. Rotten luck, that is. Next Saturday is the carnival."

"I know. That's why I requested next Saturday."

"You requested it? But…" I'm at a loss for words.

Percy sighs in that impatient way of his that tells me he's getting ready to tell me something that should be glaringly obvious. Obvious to only Percy, unless I'm blind and hadn't noticed.

"Think about it, Ol. Everyone will be preoccupied with carnival. My absence there – if I'd gone at all, mind you – wouldn't be noticed. Any other day and my being gone from the school might seem a bit odd, don't you think?"

"Uh." I scratch my arm to prolong the silence a couple more seconds as I think about that. "Yeah, I hadn't thought of that. How will you be getting away from the school and all?"

He taps his long, elegant fingers on the desk. "I don't know. The reply I received assured me it'd all be taken care of and I just need to be ready to travel come midmorning Saturday. I'll just have to trust that everything will work out."

"Ah."

His eyes fall back to the open book in front of him and the half page of notes, but his mind is still elsewhere. I seize the opportunity and lean in closer. The scent that is uniquely Percy tickles my nose – old books, ink, parchment, pumpkin juice. It's a salve of comfort on the uncertainty his letter brought up.

"Is there anything else?" I ask softly, my excuse for lingering in his usually rigidly defined personal space.

He blinks and looks over. "No Oliver, not that I can think of. If anything else comes to me I'll be sure and hunt you down."

No you won't, though I wish you would. "Good then. I'll keep an eye out for you."

That odd half smile of his hovers on his lips and he picks up the quill, tapping it against his lips as his eyes move over the words in the textbook. Perfectly kissable lips, I decide.

I'd have to be a fool to not want to kiss them.

"I think I'll go out and spend some time on the field."

"Have fun, Oliver," he murmurs, tongue running over his bottom lip absently.

I stand and put the chair back where it belongs, pull on some shoes. At the door I pause and look back. "Hey, Perce."

He looks over. "Yeah, Oliver?"

I make a show of thinking for a moment. "Never mind." I slip out of the room and down the stairs with a smile.

I love the way he says my name.


	4. 03: A Carnival and Conversation

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: 7th year; at the carnival and then in the Gryffindor boy dorms – the room being set up with the two beds only and two desks for study and work. I realize, as well, that a carnival or anything of the kind did not in fact happen and very likely would not happen at Hogwarts. It is a plot device. (Edited March 07)

* * *

A Carnival and Conversation

* * *

Odd. I'm more aware of Percy Weasley's absence than I have ever been of his presence.

I mean, granted, I do my fair share of Weasley watching. Subconsciously, most of the time.

At almost any given time you can ask me where Percy Weasley is and if he's in the room or in the stands at a Quidditch game I'll look directly at him without a second thought. And I pretty much know where in the school he might be at any given time. But now that he's not here, now that his whereabouts are completely unknown and unknowable to me, just about everything I see reminds me of this fact.

Wood, I tell myself, you've got it bad.

Argh. That sounded wrong.

"Ol, you okay?" Katie asks with a frown.

"Er, yeah. Why?"

"Because you looked like you were in pain."

"I'm fine. Really."

She raises an eyebrow then turns back to her conversation with the Ravenclaw Fred had badgered into working the kissing booth in Percy's place. Truth be told the Ravenclaw doesn't seem to mind in the least. In fact, he seems to be having a great time.

Everyone seems to be having a great time, with the games and the food and the party like atmosphere. Everyone but me, that is. All because of a certain-red haired Weasley.

I snort to myself. Red-haired and Weasley are practically synonyms.

I can't understand my reaction. It's not like we'd be spending the afternoon together if he were here. As a matter of fact, he probably wouldn't even be out here with everyone. Oh, he would have made a token appearance, and then he would have found a way to stay inside and study, or read, or do any number of things that don't involve being out here with the revelers.

And me… I would have been out here having the time of my life, all because I would know where he is.

I scowl at myself.

"Katie, I'm going in. In case anyone asks."

She nods, giving me a puzzled look, but I'm already moving away clutching a handful of unspent tickets. No one even notices in the excitement as I slip away and back into the castle.

It's noticeably cooler inside and naturally much quieter. Overall there's an empty feel -what with the heart and soul of Hogwart's outside- but there's still too much life for it to feel desolate. My footsteps echo as I walk. I shove the handful of tickets into a pocket, feeling foolish for holding them like they have some purpose. As it is I'm getting a fair share of curious stares from the pictures along the walls.

Ignoring them I make my way to the dormitories. I fall back onto the first bed I come to. It isn't mine but that hardly matters. I settle an arm up over my eyes, noticing that there's something crinkling beneath me as I move. I frown, shifting a bit more, not quite willing to get up, and I identify the sound as papers just as I'm distracted by the door opening. And then closing.

My arm falls away and I open my eyes to see Percy wrapped in a robe, toweling his hair, a puzzled look on his face. "What are you doing up here, Ol?"

I push myself up by my elbows amidst more crunching and crinkling.

"Ol…" He drags the nickname out in a long-suffering sigh. "You're wrinkling my papers."

"You're back."

"Observant of you. Off my stuff."

I obligingly roll over when he approaches, brandishing his towel like it's some sort of weapon. He take the papers and smoothes them out best he can before placing them under one of the heavy books on his desk.

"Sorry, Perce. I hadn't realized you'd come back."

"Hm." He shrugs. It's a beautiful, fluid motion. "Why aren't you down there with everyone else?"

I turn away as one side of the robe slides from his shoulder, revealing pale, freckled skin. "Dun know, just got bored, I guess. Kind of looses the thrill and all that when you've been helping plan it for two weeks."

"It should make you appreciate other people's hard work."

I turn back to him.

That's such a Percy comment. I can't help but grin.

"What?" He seems to know though. He scowls and sits, (more like plops though he'd argue he'd never do anything of the sort), down on my bed, throwing a pillow at me. "Come off it. Anyway, it seems to be going well, from what I saw of it earlier."

"When'd you get back?"

"Maybe 20 minutes ago. Not too long ago anyway." He tilts his head to one side, vigorously toweling his hair. His bangs fall across his forehead, sending a water droplet down his nose, and he brushes it away impatiently. I don't notice I'm staring until he stops what he's doing and just watches me expectantly.

"Um. How did it go? Your- thing?"

"My thing? The meeting went fine, if that's what you're asking."

He's going to be an insufferable git. I just know it. "And? Or am I not allowed to know?"

That half smile I know so well plays across his lips. "Know what?"

"Argh." I throw the pillow back. My aim is a bit off considering I'm tossing it while lying on my back, looking at him upside down. I count myself lucky when it hits his elbow. "I know you're not that thick, Perce."

"It went fine."

"Is there an echo in here? You just said that. Besides, you know what I'm asking." I push myself up into a sitting position and turn so I'm facing him. He stops toweling, towel and hands falling into his lap, and he studies me a moment. "I'll tell you later, Ol. Okay? "

"Sure."

He seems.uncomfortable. Nothing that most people would catch, mind, but it's there in the way he sits and how his hands grip the towel and the tilt of his head and especially in the eyes that aren't hidden behind his glasses. Ah, sweet tears of insanity, my Percy obsession seems to be paying off.

"What's wrong, Perce?"

He shakes his head and stands, raking his damp hair back away from his face and moving over to his trunk. He shuffles around a bit, obscured by the curtains around the bed, and I see the robe he'd been wearing get tossed over the back of his chair. After a minute he comes around and sits down next to me, wearing a pair of soft cotton sweats I'd bought him last Christmas and a shirt I'd bet a galleon was mine.

"Nothing wrong. Really. The meeting was just. I'm still trying to figure everything out. It was unexpected."

He smiles at me then. I forget what I was going to say.


	5. 04: Who Would Buy Kisses?

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: 7th year; the Gryffindor boy dorms – the room being set up with the two beds only and two desks for study and work. I realize, as well, that a carnival or anything of the kind did not in fact happen and very likely would not happen at Hogwarts. It is a plot device. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Who Would Buy Kisses?

* * *

"Why wouldn't someone want to buy kisses from me?"

I look over at him. A mistake, I realize, but when one's long-time crush asks a question like that it does merit a look at the very least. He's lying on the bed on his back, head tipped back so he's looking at me upside down over the edge, arms flung out wide. It's at once both inviting and ridiculous – this _is_ Percy, oh so dignified Percy, and that position is anything but dignified. I can't stop the smile that curls the corners of my mouth up.

"Perhaps, Percy, someone would rather the kisses be given than bought," I say at last, turning back to the paper I'm writing.

"Heh, well…"

I glance over at him out of the corner of my eye. I have him with that one, I can tell. He has no idea the proper response. I imagine he was expecting something witty or sarcastic and was fully prepared to respond in kind.

At last he rolls over and props himself up with a pillow, blue eyes obscured by the light dancing over the glasses. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so."

"Like who?"

I don't want to open my mouth because I know something pathetic or stupid or horribly incriminating – or some combination thereof – will come out, but I know he won't take the silence well either. Carefully I put my quill down, arrange the books on my desk, and then turn in my chair to look at him. He's waiting patiently. Not that I expected anything else.

I get up and sit down next to him on the bed, leaning back on my hands. "What's bothering you?" I ask, changing the subject.

He stares at me for a moment, that fathomless stare of his that makes me feel like he already knows everything he could about everything; he's just waiting for the confessions that will inevitably come.

"I'm going to accept the offer," he says at last.

"But…" Now admittedly, I'm not the sharpest person around, especially compared to Perce, but if he's choosing to accept the offer then I'd imagine that he's thought it all out and feels comfortable with his choice. He doesn't seem comfortable – he seems vaguely concerned.

"There are certain conditions to this offer."

"Oh." Yes, I know. That's why I'm more than just vaguely concerned.

He's silent. With Percy the normal rules of conversation rarely apply, I've learned this the hard way through the years. He has four kinds of silences.

There is the 'I'm only pausing' silence, never mind the fact the pause lasts well over five minutes. There is the 'I'm waiting for you to say something' silence, which crops up at most of the normal places in conversation, but sometimes it worms its way in at the oddest of times. And then there's the 'no, don't speak any more' silence, and its twin the 'don't speak any more' silence that cleverly disguises itself as the 'it's your turn to talk' silence.

I've also learned when in doubt always – always – go with the first one.

"One of these conditions is that I distance myself from the people I know, for their safety, for mine, so I can work better. There are a lot of reasons for it. So I thought about it, made up list of people I'd have to pull away from to make sure I could before I made a commitment, and not only was the list quite short but I quickly realized that I don't have to distance myself from any of them, my family and friends, because I already am distanced.

"And the thought just crossed my mind; who would buy kisses from Percy Weasley? No one. _I_ wouldn't buy kisses from Percy Weasley."

From someone else this might sound like self-pity, or it might come across as upset, or there would be anger, or hurt, but not from Percy. This is Percy's own brand of truth, something much bitterer to swallow because there's nothing left after that.

He looks at me. It's such a strange expression. "And then there are you, Ol. You would buy kisses from Percy Weasley. You're the only one. Symbolically speaking, of course."

I reach out to touch his face, wishing I had the courage to just come out and say it, to tell him how I feel, what I want, what he does to me.

"I know." He turns his head, lifting a hand to catch my own. He presses a soft kiss against my palm. "Believe me, I know."

And with that he rolls off the bed, straightens his robes, and leaves the room without a backward glance.


	6. 05: Goodbyes

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: 7th year; the Gryffindor boy dorms – the room being set up with the two beds only and two desks for study and work. I realize, as well, that a carnival or anything of the kind did not in fact happen and very likely would not happen at Hogwarts. It is a plot device. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Goodbyes

* * *

Strange, the way people settle into "not discussing". It's one of those things I'd always marveled at, seeing others fall into that silent agreement of 'said thing did not take place,' and therefore, as it had not actually 'taken place' it no longer has the power to affect them in any way.

I'd always thought it was some special brand of momentary insanity. I don't let topics go. I shake it until its dead, and then I shake it some more to see if maybe it was just pretending. I can't help it; it's just the way I am. I've been a strong believer in confront and don't let fester. Until now.

Until Percy Weasley.

He's never brought it up. And for some reason I still don't understand every time I mean to and look into those soulful eyes from over the rims of glasses, or blurry with sleep, or face flushed with anger, or when his skin is glistening from a fresh shower, or… The words die in my mouth every time I try to say them.

And now I don't think I'll be able to, with the end of the year upon us, all those final tests, end of term itself, and beyond that the uncertain future that awaits us as fully educated witches and wizards.

I'm one of the few lucky ones. I know what I want to do, what I've always wanted to do, and I've gotten several nice offers. My future's set.

So is Percy's, though his no longer seems as concretely certain as mine.

The scary thing is I don't think our two futures will ever find a way to meet in some nice middle ground. Quidditch player and... bloody hell, I don't even know what he is anymore.

I can't help but feel I'm losing my best friend.

The sad thing is, I probably am. And there's nothing I can really do about it.

And it's all Percy's fault, because he's so damn perfect.

"Ol...?"

I look up at him. He's standing in the doorway to our room, leaning against the doorframe, a look on his face I can't read. Not that big of a surprise, not anymore. Ever since The Letter he began to shutter away his already guarded feelings. I'd curse the world if it'd do any good.

"Yeah?"

"I..." he falters.

It's rare to see Percy uncertain in the way he is now. Even in his most vulnerable moments he manages to seem completely unruffled. It's something I've always admired and envied.

I wait for him to continue. He knows he has my undivided attention.

He comes in the room and I see that his robes are undone, revealing dark muggle clothing underneath. He shuts the door silently behind him, and then leans against it, hands folded behind him.

"I didn't want to say anything until I was certain, but the last couple days I've been taking the NEWTS. That's why I've been so busy. And I received the results today." He pauses just a moment. "I scored near perfect marks."

I'm a bit puzzled but Percy seems to have that effect on me a lot. "Well, that's good. Figures you'd be able to pull that off. But why?"

He bites his bottom lip. It's distracting as all can be, but right now there's something more pressing on my mind than my libido.

"It's like this, Ol. I'm more than ready to leave. I've learned all I can learn here and there are other things I have to do as soon as possible. I'm being sent to America in three days for some... training, and from there I'm going to visit my brother, Charlie, and then if I can manage it I'll see Bill when I'm passing through Egypt. From there it'll be back home, to the Ministry. They need me."

"You're going to America? For training? And then to see your brothers? In three days?"

"Well." He pauses, pushing away from the door to sit at the edge of his bed, an earnest look on his face. But it somehow seems a little… strained. "Not all at once, of course. I _leave_ in three days for America. Muggle transportation. Metal contraption that flies. Anyway, I'll be there for about a month, training and learning and- stuff. When I leave America I've got a few places to stop, a few people to see for things, and within another week I should be in Romania near Charlie. I'll probably stay with him while I do some research there. Nothing important, boring stuff. I don't think I'll be there for more than four or five days though, too much to do. And I need to visit Egypt for a bit more research and... other things. I'll look Bill up while I'm there. And then- I'll come back. Home, I mean. To the Burrow, and then settle in. The Ministry job, you know."

"I don't quite understand," I say slowly. "What happened? The letter, you know. Wasn't there something you had to do?"

"Oh. Well, see, the Ministry job. It's a part of it, in a way. I really shouldn't say. It'd be best for everyone if I don't."

"When do you leave?" I manage; trying not to choke on the words of a question I really don't want the answer to.

"Actually, well, I have to leave now. Must, you see. I would have told you sooner, Ol, I really would have, but I didn't know until this afternoon."

"Now?"

He half nods.

"But Perce... end of term, and goodbyes... and all that..."

"I've said the goodbyes I need to say, Ol. I'm here, aren't I? And I'm needed somewhere. I have a purpose, I can make a difference. Things are happening, Ol…" he hesitates, looking a little uncertain for a moment. "Dark things. I can't really say. But there are things that can be done now to help in the long run. I'm just doing my part. What anyone would do."

He pushes himself up and takes one last look around the room; hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"What about your stuff?"

He pauses, head cocked to one side. He seems a little calmer now. "Someone will be around to get it soon enough. I did mention it was short notice, I think."

He stands there. He seems to be waiting, but he's not quite looking at me. He takes a step away, and then stops. But…

He's walking out of my life. Standing still there and he's walking out of my life. Percy Weasley is walking out of my life and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And I don't understand why he's going. It makes no sense.

I almost can't believe that he's going. I almost haven't believed it from the very first. I almost can't believe the letter and his decision. I almost can't imagine seven solid – oh so strange, but undoubtedly solid – seven years of friendship… The trouble with almost is… it's almost. But maybe….

"Will I... we'll be in touch... if you have time?" I ask.

I'll never forget that look for as long as I live, something sad and resigned and amazingly bittersweet. "No, Ol, I don't think we will."

"But..." There are no words left to describe the ache that those seven simple words create. Seven years, seven words, seven seconds, and… a hundred instances, now regrets, a thousand words not spoken in quiet moments, a million touches allowed to linger then melt away, all bearing me down like no material weight ever could.

I can't... this can't slip through my fingers. I can't let it drift away on the fickle winds of fate or chance or choice... I'm a desperate man reaching for a lifeline, willing to give it all up because there's really nothing left to give.

I grab his arm when he moves to leave, and I'm momentarily shocked by the solid warmth of him, perhaps hoping, praying, needing for it to have never truly occurred. I recover though, lightening quick, and bring that wiry body against mine in a hug. And I kiss him. I have nothing to lose. Almost.

There is no moment of uncertainty, no shock, no surprise, only the return of the kiss, bruising in intensity. Those arms snake around my neck and he pulls us closer, and oh gods I hadn't thought it possible to be even closer. I find my arms around his waist, practically lifting him off his feet, and it's hard to resist the urge to tumble us both back on the bed.

He pulls back, arms still about me, panting heavily, and I see reflected in his own eyes a river of a hundred thousand million regrets, a river which has darkened his eyelashes and threatens to break free of that even now cracking dam.

"I'm sorry."

A whisper. A rustle of clothing. I'm left alone in the room with nothing but his taste on my lips and his tears on my face.

It's always almost.


	7. 06: Alice in Wonderland

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Alice in Wonderland

* * *

"Hey, Ol, how you doing?"

"Been keeping yourself busy?"

"Kicking butt?"

"Meet any girls?"

"I bet they're just falling all over themselves."

The twins really haven't changed at all. I half smile, enduring the enthused backslapping that punctuates each sentence.

"Come on in, sit down."

"It's been a long time since we saw you last."

"Been getting your letters, though."

"Sounds like you're having great fun."

"Hey mum, Ol's here!"

I'm herded into the living room and onto the couch, a grinning twin on either side of me. Mrs. Weasley comes bustling in. There really there isn't any other word to describe it.

"Oliver, how have you been? The twins have kept me up to date on things. It all sounds so exciting."

"I've been rather well, ma'am. I've got a busy schedule, though I don't get to play all that much. Just reserve, after all. Lots of practice, little game time."

"What brings you to town?"

"We've got a week or so off from training and games. Our captain isn't really certain how long just yet. Most of the team is heading into London but I decided to stop by and see the twins since they mentioned if I was ever in the area they'd love to see me. It was on the way back from our last stop. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all." She beams. "A pleasure really."

"I'll head out again soon, though, to meet up with the team in London. And find a decent place to stay for a few days."

"You don't have family around or anything?"

"No ma'am."

She thinks about this for a moment and its times like this I wish I had the foresight to watch what I say before I say it. And really, I ought to know better. How long have I known the Weasleys in some form or another?

"Why don't you stay with us then?"

"Oh no, I really couldn't-."

"Sure you could. You look like you need some company and a few home cooked meals, a couple days to relax. Really, I insist. And you'd be safer here..." she trails off, and then brightens up with a smile. "No trouble at all. As much as the twins talk about you you're practically a part of the family."

I recognize the look she's got in her eyes. It's the same one Percy would always get when he'd gotten hold of an idea and had decided not to let it go and eventually I'd be forced to agree. And I've got to admit it would be nice, the home cooked meals, the family atmosphere, the pleasant company, and... Percy.

I haven't seen him since- then. Haven't heard from him in any other way except at the first in letters from Fred and George, and even then that stopped soon enough- probably when they ran out of things to gripe about.

Old patterns demand one more attempt to give them the chance to think it over. "I really don't want to be a bother."

"No bother at all, dear, no bother at all."

Something whistles from another part of the house and she excuses herself and bustles out again. I'm left feeling a bit lost, as if I'd missed something, but the twins just start to chatter on about their latest concoction and what they hope to do with it next. I can only take about ten minutes of their non-stop talking, able to get the briefest 'uh huhs' and 'hmms' and 'yes, I-' into the conversation before they barrel ahead with the next thought, and then I'm starting to think that I'm going to need a vacation from my vacation if this keeps up.

And with that amazing sense for knowing the right moment to interrupt – just like Percy – Mrs. Weasley comes back into the room and more or less tells me that I'd like to have some time to myself to settle in and such before dinner. Very astute woman, Mrs. Weasley. I agree whole heartedly with her assessment and let her show me the way up the stairs, trailed by the twins.

"You'll have to stay in Percy's room. Normally we put visitors in Bill and Charlie's old room, but the twins," she shoots them a glare only a mother can pull off, "made something in their room _explode_ and there's magic bouncing all around and part of a wall's missing right now. So now they're in Charlie and Bill's room. That's not going to be a problem, is it? You two were friends in school, right? And there's plenty of room in there. He's away right now of course, so you'll just be by yourself, and we don't expect him back until a week at least. Is that all right?"

"Well, I- I expect so. He's gone?"

"Off studying something somewhere, doing research, I can't remember exactly. He's always so busy though. A real asset to the Ministry, my Percy." She fiddles with a door and then pushes it open, muttering something under her breath that lights up the room from light sources I can't see at the moment.

I know as soon as I glance into the room that it's Percy's, from the neat rows of books on the shelves in the back to the perfectly made bed, the organized desk and the shirt folded just so and draped over the back of the chair.

It seems terribly wrong to step into this sanctuary without Percy here as my guide but Mrs. Weasley just continues without taking notice.

"I don't think you'll be wanting for much. There's plenty of space here, and he always keeps it tidy. I'll get you anything you need after supper is finished but until then we'll just leave you be." She waits a moment then turns with a smile and herds the twins out, shutting the door behind her.

As soon as the door closes all of the sounds outside of the room cease to be and I realize that Percy has an advanced silencing charm up. I do believe I remember him mentioning something about ghosts in the attic or banging pipes, the occasional explosion, and just the general hubbub of a large household.

I take a look around the room, at bit lost at what to do next, though I know I can't just stand here until they come back up and collect me. I move over to the bed and perch at the edge of it.

The last half an hour of my life has been very Alice inn Wonderland in nature, surreal to the point of almost ridiculous. And now here I am, in Percy's room, sitting on his bed – a place, mind you, I would have killed to be a little over a year ago – and I have no idea really how I got here.

And apparently Percy won't be back until after I leave, most likely. That's just life for you.


	8. 07: The Plastic Box

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. (Edited March 07)

* * *

The Plastic Box

* * *

I roll onto my stomach and draw the pillow closer, breathing in the scent that lingers just below the fresh flower smell of the soap. This scent is definitely Percy, the same enticing mix that brings up memories of school and lazy afternoons.

But there's something more that hadn't been there before. This something else isn't a total change, more of an addition to the others, adding its own scent but not creating a new scent altogether. It's something subtle, sweet, sugary. And there's something else that's not so much a smell as a feeling, one I mentally roll my eyes at but can't dismiss the shiver of – subtle, sweet, sugary and almost – almost, almost, almost – almost dangerous. Almost like a quaffle coming right at you that you can't dodge. Just can't dodge.

One you're not sure you want to dodge.

The familiarity gives me a craving for sugar quills. The cold, empty room makes me homesick for Hogwarts and the comforting sound of Percy's even breathing mere feet away.

I roll onto my back and stare into the darkness above.

And to top it all off I've suddenly become an insomniac.

Onto my stomach again, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. I close my eyes and try counting dragons. If I'm lucky I'll bore myself to sleep. I'm not surprised when it doesn't work.

My fingers brush something under the bed that feels like... plastic?

Intrigued I reach farther and explore the surface of what I encountered. It's slightly rough, but in a pattern of roughness and not just roughness in general. It's solid and unmovable upon first contact but if I push hard enough it bends just slightly.

Yes, it's definitely plastic.

I think a moment, wondering what it could be, what its use is, what it might be hiding. For Percy to have it, well...

"Lunos." The word lights the room softly, not too bright but enough to see well by, to do work or to read without straining the eyes. Typical Percy, practical with an edge of humor and intellect. I still haven't figured out how he managed to get it to do that either, as far as I've ever known the spell only works for wands.

Scooting to the edge of the bed I peer over the side and beneath, pushing the sheet out of the way, pleased and puzzled to see I had been right. Of course now I'm curious, and it's my luck that the container isn't that clear plastic most of them tend to be but a dark solid color.

Indecision and uncertainty fight with curiosity and finally curiosity wins on the basis that Percy Weasley would never hide something important in something as easy to get into as a plastic container. I ignore the little voice that tells me that being Percy Weasley he would do just that.

Sliding off the bed I get on my hands and knees and drag the container out from under the bed, not at all surprised to see no dust come with it. I sit back on my heels and study it for a moment; unable to stop myself from noting it's the same dark blue as my eyes. Now I can't help but wonder if that has some significance, and then again it is two in the morning and we all draw some pretty strange conclusions at two in the morning.

And then again, it's two in the morning, so my guilty conscience isn't awake enough to notice that in putting the box back I 'inadvertently' open it. Maybe later I'll feel bad about it but for now I think I'll just be content with having found something to do.

I study the contents of the box, not sure how to feel about my find. There's a scrapbook, a ragged old stuffed bunny rabbit with one eye missing, and yes, in the corner, a small stash of sugar quills and a couple of other assorted kinds of sweets.

There's something vaguely sacred about the contents and I'm wary of just handling them without permission for fear I'll tread carelessly on the altar of childhood memories. Yet, there's something about the few objects, so ordinary and yet so obviously important, that draws me in, and I find myself lifting the scrapbook carefully onto my lap.

He had said that I didn't count under the normal rules, hadn't he?

I open the plain cover and am surprised to find a newspaper clipping, dated back roughly eight months ago. I recognize the paper as a popular muggle one, which presents another mystery. The headline catches my attention.

BODY FOUND IN THAMES; FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED

I skim the article, puzzled, and then turn the page. Another muggle newspaper, another headline.

IDENTITY OF MURDER VICTIM STILL MYSTERY

I flip through more of the pages, most of the clippings are from muggle papers, a few from Wizarding papers, all of them recounting attacks or mysterious deaths, and from the known victims I recognize a few of the names as Ministry officials.

I flip back through them, just looking at the headlines, trying to understand what would possess Percy to cut out things like this. All the articles are cut out neatly, no ragged edges, no uneven lines, almost as if he used a ruler to make sure each cut was straight and precise, which of course meant a lot of thought and time and effort had to have been put into each article.

NO NEW LEADS IN EAST END MURDER  
PAIR FOUND DEAD IN PARK; NO SUSPECTS  
FEW LEADS IN DEATH OF PROMINENT PROFESSOR

And some of them look like they're small town papers, certainly nothing I've ever seen on a newspaper stand for sale. One from Texas, the United States I believe, and another from somewhere in Australia. I can't imagine how Percy could have gotten them, or why.

MOTIVE FOR SLAYING UNCLEAR  
MISSING SCIENTIST PRESUMED DEAD  
DOUBLE MURDER, POLICE WONDER IF KILLINGS CONNECTED  
LACK OF EVIDENCE HINDERS MCGOWAN CASE

What really bothers me is I know Percy well enough to know if he's spent this much time on something then it's something incredibly important to him, and even trying to think of reasons why unsolved murders would be this important is unsettling. I know that Percy is... different, but he's not the type to collect newspaper clippings of murders like other people collect chocolate frog cards. At least, I don't think he is.

And that doubt bothers me even more. But now that it has its claws in me I can't see it letting go any time soon.

INJURED WIFE DISTRAUGHT AFTER ATTACK THAT LEAVES HUSBAND DEAD  
GREENWICH MURDER LEAVES POLICE BAFFLED  
METHOD OF ENTRY MYSTERY IN LAB BREAK-IN  
WITNESS: SUSPECT APPEARED "OUT OF NOWHERE"

I think I've noticed a pattern…

I close the scrapbook carefully, unable to face up to the... what would Percy consider them? Failures? Of the Ministry to take care of its own? Of the Ministry in general? Perhaps in all of human kind.

I'm suddenly very tired.

I put the scrapbook back and move to put the lid on when the bunny catches my eye again. I run a hand down one torn ear, and then lift it gently from its prison. Pushing the container back under the bed I slide under the now cool sheets and hold the rabbit in my arms.

"Nox."

The room fades into darkness.


	9. 08: Breakfast and a Newspaper

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Breakfast and a Newspaper

* * *

Breakfast in the Weasley household is a lot like breakfast back at Hogwarts. It starts out quiet as everyone wakes up and contemplates their food, their night, their day, and then as the caffeine kicks in anything and everything can happen. Especially with the twins around.

Today's actually a surprise, though. The twins slink off after they finish their food to wherever it is they usually spend the first part of their mornings and when they leave they don't leave a trail of terror behind, including but not limited to exploding eggs, burping pancakes, juice that turns the teeth green, and napkins that bite. Though, I'm thinking by the look they shared before they excused themselves that I just might want to follow Ron's usual morning example after I finish and just crawl back into bed and pretend I'm doing something important. Breakfast was safe enough but there's no guarantee for the rest of the day.

Ron excuses himself not too long after the twins leave, followed by Ginny who disappears somewhere upstairs and if she follows the same pattern no one will see her until lunch.

I'm seriously beginning to think that I should be on my way, not just from the table but also from the Burrow. As much as I've enjoyed the twin's lighthearted company the past two days, and the long chess games with Ron after supper, and just being free to roam the countryside and relax and catch up on sleep, and helping Mrs. Weasley fix a few things around the house… I'm beginning to run out of things to do and reasons to stay.

And of course there's Percy Weasley. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to stay among his things and not snap. It's not that I feel uncomfortable there, though I do. It's also that I feel entirely too comfortable, as if I belong, which I most clearly _don't_.

"Something wrong, Oliver?"

I look up from my contemplation of the half eaten eggs on my plate. "Um, no."

"You sure, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You've been very quiet."

"Just thinking."

Mrs. Weasley nods pleasantly and turns back to her mostly one-sided conversation with her husband. He's still reading the paper, though he's just flipping through it now, glancing at things. I'm just looking down when his hands grip the sides of the paper tight enough his fingers start to go white and the paper crunches in his fists.

"Arthur?"

Wordlessly he hands her the paper and she takes it, face losing a bit of its color. "Oh dear, another one," she murmurs. "Not dear, sweet Hannah Stoker. What could she possibly..." she trails off and looks at her husband.

"She worked in records," Mr. Weasley tells her wearily. "I'm sure she'd be a fountain of information."

Mrs. Weasley looks back down at the paper, biting her lip as her eyes move over the words. "But she... she was found in Norway. She only lives thirty minutes by broom from here. What was she doing in Norway?"

Mr. Weasley's eyes drop to his plate as he begins to shred the napkin he'd picked up after relinquishing the newspaper. "No idea, and from what I'm reading between the lines no one else has any idea either. She has no family there, no business… she planned on attending a meeting we're having at the end of the week..." He throws his napkin onto the plate. "And no sign of struggle! She just looked terribly surprised. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mrs. Weasley rests a reassuring hand on her husband's arm. "Nasty business, all this. I do hope Percy is all right. Didn't he say that that's where he was headed, Arthur? I thought it was, to discuss the need for uniform caldron thickness with an expert over there, or something."

An emotion flickers over Mr. Weasley's face, something I can't identify offhand but is strong enough to darken his eyes and thin his lips, something that would have me ducking low on my broom and rolling out of the way if I were on the Quidditch field. Then his expression softens, he speaks and his voice is just as weary.

"Somewhere over there, but I expect he's all right, Mol. We'd have heard something by now if that weren't the case."

She looks over her shoulder at the clock on the wall and her shoulders relax after a second. "It's in-between work and traveling," she sighs, turning back around. She seems to notice me for the first time. "Oliver, I'd... forgotten you were here."

"Quite all right, ma'am. Is everything okay?"

"Oh yes, well, have you been keeping up with the news?"

"A little here and there, when I get the chance. I've been quite busy though."

"It's good to keep yourself busy during these times."

I look to the paper. "May I?"

"Oh, yes, certainly." She hands it over and I smooth it out carefully, skimming it briefly before looking at the picture. The background is dark and hazy, quite hard to tell where it was taken, and several important looking wizards are clustered around a table while another talks with someone who is obviously the reporter. They're not doing much; bit of a boring picture, but there's something ominous about it that I can't pinpoint.

"And Percy's over there?" I ask after a moment, looking up.

Mrs. Weasley looks up from buttering her toast, I note absently it's the third time she's done it, and stares at me a moment. "Oh, over in the... he went there to meet with someone, I didn't really... he told me, of course, but it had something to do with cauldron thickness and this substance over that substance and when it comes to that I just leave it to him."

"What department of the Ministry does Percy work for?"

She frowns faintly. "International Magical Cooperation." She waves her knife around vaguely and then dips it back into the butter bowl to go at her toast again. "He's been out a lot these days, meeting people, trying to... he's very passionate about his work, very dedicated. Sometimes days go by and no one will hear from him. He's running himself ragged. So much potential... but I guess everyone has to start out at the bottom." She smiles at her husband. "Right, Arthur?"

Very gently he takes the buttery knife from her and lays it down on his plate. "Yes, Mol. Why don't you let me and Oliver take care of the table for you?"

"Oh no, you've got to get to work, and I'm sure Oliver has better things to do."

"I don't mind, ma'am, especially after so many lovely meals you've cooked. It's the least I could do."

She looks positively thrilled and flattered at my comment. "Well, if you insist I guess I'll have to let you do it. I'll be in the living room if you need me." She gets up with a smile and pecks Mr. Weasley on the cheek as she passes by.

That leaves us alone in the kitchen. He looks to me after a moment, an odd look I can't define, and then he stands and begins to pick plates up and carry them over to the sink. "Normally one of the kids does this but we've found that the first week or so after school gets out and they come back they're in these zombie states until at least noon."

He turns back with a half smile as I'm picking up a couple plates as well and following his example.

"Probably something to do with the freedom and the late nights."

I agree, lacking anything else to say.

"You'll have to excuse Molly. She worries about her kids all the time – grades, clothes, supplies, if they're staying out of trouble, if they're having fun, anything and everything really. And now Percy, and me, and our being in the Ministry with all the killings."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley."

"Please, call me Arthur."

I half nod. "You don't seem very concerned though... Arthur."

He stops scraping the contents of a plate into a trash bin for a brief second and I wonder if I've upset him before he starts again, sighing softly, glancing past me to where the living room is. "I am concerned of course, but not overly. Percy... knows how to stay well out of the heart of trouble."

"You seem bothered," I venture after a moment.

"Lots of things going on, is all." He gives me a warm smile. "I heard you fixed the sink yesterday."

"Nothing to it really, I just made a few adjustments."

"It's working better than ever now, that's all I know. You've been a great help around here."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're certainly welcome to stay as long as you like," he tells me. "You're great company, you keep the twins busy, you've almost beaten Ron at chess." He raises an eyebrow.

"Quidditch," I murmur. "Strategy."

He smiles warmly again. "Just remember you're welcome as long as you like, but certainly don't let us keep you if you're growing weary of babysitting the twins and doing repairs." He chuckles quietly as he passes, patting my shoulder.

I look down at the dishes sitting on the counter, stacked up neatly, ready to be cleaned and put away, and it occurs to me that I've never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Weasley this warm and friendly around Percy.


	10. 09: A Strange Night

Warnings: Very slight language warning at the end.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. Chapter 9 and 10 combined. (Edited March 07)

* * *

A Strange Night

* * *

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure."

Mrs. Weasley smiles. "You're certainly more than welcome if you change your mind, Oliver, dear."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

She leaves me at Percy's door and starts downstairs. Mr. Weasley is waiting for her at the bottom. Their conversation drifts up to me as they walk away.

"...And he's so polite. He must be a treasure to his parents. And a professional Quidditch player, too. You remember when Charlie..."

I retreat to Percy's room, appreciating the silence that falls as soon as the door closes. The Weasley's are great, really they are, but I'm not used to the hustling and bustling of a family of this size with that much energy on a regular basis. Granted, my teammates are a bit like this, but for all of their energy and activity and noise there is no way they could match an entire family of Weasleys.

My own family is nothing like theirs. To begin with it's certainly not this big, at least not immediately. It's only my parents and me really, though when I was younger I had a cousin stay with us for several years while his parents sorted through some trouble they had with their oldest son. Neil's still like an older brother, though we hardly see each other now.

My family isn't this loud either. My parents rarely raise their voices, in anger or joy. They show emotion, but with restraint. There's certainly no yelling from one side of the house to the other when we all have perfectly good legs that can carry one to the room the other person is in.

Privacy is not some foreign concept to my family either. Now to be fair to the Weasley's it's not as if they don't respect each other's space, though sometimes they don't, they just don't place the same high value to one's privacy and personal space as I do. I think that's one of the reasons I'm so uncomfortable staying here, in Percy's room, because I know he values his privacy and space just like I do.

Of course, after Percy and I came to know one another those carefully constructed lines we both drew at the first slowly began to blend and fade away until there were only the smallest marks here and there to show that we were still separate. I think that's one of the reasons I'm so comfortable here in Percy's space.

It's a tiring contradiction. I've stopped trying to understand.

Moving over to the bed I settle onto it and pick up the stuffed rabbit absently, setting it down on my stomach as I fold my hands behind my head.

Home is always more tidy and organized, everything planned out, everything with a place. That is always one of those things that I have trouble with myself, being a bit on the spontaneous side. Of course my parents understood that then when I was a child, and they understand it now and accept it just the same. I'm sure it proves nerve wracking some days, though.

I chuckle quietly and Mr. Floppy – he certainly looks like a Mr. Floppy to me – tumbles forward on my chest and regards me from the shadow his ear casts over his face. I must be losing my mind; I'm naming Percy's stuffed animals.

Well, it's only one animal, but that's a minor detail.

With a yawn I pick Mr. Floppy up and set him aside, then sit and swing my legs over the side of the bed, stretching them out in front of me. After a moment I push myself up and shed my robe, and then the muggle clothes under them, leaving me in my boxers.

I settle back onto the bed and get comfortable, hoping to get to sleep soon and not have another night like the last. And sleep does come, slowly, broken up, and peppered with strange dreams of chatting with Mr. Floppy about Percy and why he won't marry me and of talking mushrooms, giggling fish, swimming in a bowl of oranges, and plenty of other things.

And during one of those moments when I'm not sure if I'm awake or asleep I hear a noise somewhere nearby and roll over, muttering to myself about dancing leprechauns and pots of honey at the end of shooting stars. There's a soft chuckle, a sound that's real and familiar.

Opening my eyes slowly I find the room is lit with a soft light and straddling the desk chair – a chair now beside the bed – arms folded casually over it and wearing faded jeans and a tight black shirt is none other than Percy Weasley. Smirking just slightly. I think I'm still dreaming.

My eyes dart over to the flickering candle on the dresser and then back to Percy's face. Still amused, still unmoving, I'm beginning to wonder if he really exists or if he's some figment of my sleep numb imagination.

"Perce?"

"Oliver."

I give a start.

He chuckles softly at my reaction and it's a sound I remember, but there's something different to it, something dry and – almost hollow.

My eyes drift down, over the faded jeans, one knee worn to threads, to the black military style boots on his feet, and then back up to the tight black shirt that outlines his flat stomach clearly, his well defined arms, the expensive looking watch on his wrist. No ring, I note with odd relief. The twins had mentioned that he seemed to be involved with Penelope Clearwater for a while, which was beyond strange to hear considering he'd made it very clear to me once he was in no way, shape, or form interested in Penelope Clearwater. Or _any_ female for that matter, his tone seemed to suggest.

"Done staring?"

I look at his face again, levering myself up onto an elbow. I'm surprised by it, surprised I missed it before, but there's a slight bruise on his jaw, and his bottom lip is cut and puffy, like someone punched him.

"Percy... what are you doing here?"

"This was my room the last time I checked," he tells me dryly, lifting a hand to push his untidy hair back from his face.

"Well, I mean, yeah it is, but what are you doing here? Your mum said you wouldn't be back for a while."

"I won't."

"You won't be back for a while?"

"Yes."

"But you're here right now."

"I am."

"So you're back?"

"It appears so."

I open my mouth, hesitate, and then close it again, thinking about that one. I'm up against Percy logic and I'm half asleep, I'm thinking I'm going to look like a fool if I continue with this line of questioning. Then again I'm in Percy's bed in my boxers- I glance down- yep, Percy's stuffed rabbit by my side, chances are I'm going to look like a fool anyway.

"Why?"

"Why am I back?"

"Yeah."

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I finished my business there."

"Ah." I shift uncomfortably. I'm not sure how I imagined our reunion but I know I certainly hadn't planned it being under these circumstances. Percy gives me an odd smile.

"Um, your mum invited me to stay. I stopped by a couple days ago, on break, to see the twins, and I mentioned I needed to leave soon to find a place to stay. She insisted I stay here."

"Certainly sounds like my mum."

"And I'm in your room on account of the twins blowing up theirs."

He chuckles softly. "Certainly sounds like the twins."

"Um..." I trail off. He's still staring at me, as if he's waiting for a confession or admittance or, well, I don't even know. All I know is that I'm being unnerved by it. I try not to fidget, eyes moving away from him and tracking around the room. I spare a glance back to his impassive face. "You don't mind, do you?"

Another smile breaks through the blank stare and he shakes his head.

"Good."

I realize why I'm uncomfortable after another moment of studying his face; I can see Percy's eyes. I don't know why I hadn't caught that before, the absence of his glasses, but now that I've become aware of that I also by degrees become aware of another absence, this one unsettling. There's nothing to see in his eyes. A smile touches his lips, but his eyes manage to convey nothing except perhaps a vague upset.

I reach out slowly and touch the side of his face. His skin is warm and soft against my own.

He seems surprised momentarily, but only surprised, and only for a brief moment. Soon that melts away and leaves me with...

...With something warm and almost uncertain.

"Perce." I say his name softly, afraid he'll draw away, he'll blind himself, cease to hear. His emotions always did scare him, somehow I don't think he's changed enough that they no longer do.

Another smile, only a half lift to his lips, and his eyes remain unchanged. "Yes, Ol?"

"Are you okay?"

His eyes drift away from my face. I turn his head so that he's looking at me.

"Just fine, Ol," he answers.

I let my hand drop slowly. The moment grows awkward quickly. I'm very aware of the change, it's stifling and uncomfortable, something that shouldn't exist between old friends. I naturally seek to fill the silence.

"How are things at the Ministry?"

He blinks and studies me several long drawn out seconds, uncertain again. "Things are... decent. I've been very busy."

"With caldron thickness," I say with a slight laugh.

His lips press together into a tight line. "Yes, among things."

"I-."

"I'll see you, Oliver. Sleep well."

He stands in one fluid motion and settles the chair back under the desk.

"Wait."

He stops, his fingers hovering just out of reach of the candle's flame. There is an air of eternal patient expectation.

"You're leaving?"

"I'm not really here, remember."

"Oh, right..."

His fingers pinch the flame out and the room is plunged into darkness. I can still hear him moving about and I open my mouth to question or maybe light the room, I hadn't decided which yet, when his mouth covers mine and the words are lost.

Peppermint. And coffee.

He tastes like peppermint and coffee.

I drink him in, my fingers tangling in his hair. When he pulls back, panting against my lips, I breathe in his scent, desire running hot through me at this small contact.

It's surreal, his hands kneading my shoulders, his mouth covering mine, tongue brushing against my lips, questing, and then conquering; I submit. Another kiss, another melting of our mouths and my eyes snap open in the darkness.

Holy fuck, he's got a tongue ring.

My back meets the cool sheets and that thought slips from mind for the moment as his breath ghosts over my lips, as his weight settles over me, knees pressing into my sides. His taste lingers in my mouth, hot and sweet.

"Go to sleep, Oliver," he murmurs.

And I'm tired, exhausted to the bone, it's as if his words are reminding me of this when I know I certainly hadn't been this weary just moments before. I can't focus on that though, the idea of sleep sounds too wonderful for me to question why.

I yawn and stretch out, focusing on the heat and weight of Percy- Percy! -straddling my stomach. A forgotten thought resurfaces and I capture it and question.

"Perce, where'd you get-?"

His lips brush mine. "Shh... Sleep."

My eyes are too heavy to keep open and I relax into the pillows. I feel like I did after my last game, a grueling seven hours long. At the end I could barely stand.

I think I'm imagining things now, or perhaps I've already slipped into a dream state. A peppermint "I'm sorry" settles against my lips and I reach out languidly to the warmth and my fingers brush against the rabbit I'd had by my side when I fell asleep earlier.

Blinking, yawning, I prop myself up on my elbows and look around in the gloomy early morning light that escapes from the heavy drapes on the window. I find nothing different from the night before, nothing moved, nothing added, nothing taken away.

A dream then. A vivid dream.

I groan and fall back against the pillows. Of course I would have an unbelievably real dream like that and be so close and still not get any. Snorting I push myself up and stretch.

Just my luck, go figure.


	11. 10: Percy Returns

Warnings: Very slight language warning at the end.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. Previously chapter 11. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Percy Returns

* * *

Another Weasley breakfast.

Though even in my groggy state I can tell that there's something not quite right about the atmosphere. Nothing's exploded yet, for one thing. Nothing looks like it's going to explode any time soon, for another. Maybe it's just the calm before the storm and we're all going to turn into purple parakeets before lunch. By the looks of it the twins had a late night themselves. Maybe they're just too tired to wreak their usual havoc.

"Are you sure you want to leave today, Oliver?" Mrs. Weasley asks, pouring another glass of juice for herself.

"It's about time for me to move on, see to some stuff, you know."

"Of course. It's been a joy having you around. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you."

Another silence falls and I think I'm going to fall asleep in my breakfast from the sheer boredom when there's a sound toward the front of the house, a door closing, then a shuffling sound, a thud. I turn in my chair and wonder if I'm dreaming again, or maybe Percy's just haunting me.

"Percy, you're home early," Mr. Weasley comments, looking up over his paper. He doesn't look particularly concerned, one way or another.

At least I know that if I'm hallucinating it's a group hallucination so I'm not alone.

"I'm sure you saw in the paper there was a murder of some sort in the general area where I was staying. The Ministry decided to bring the rest of us back here for safety's sake."

"As well they should have. I'm glad to have you home, Perce darling." Mrs. Weasley smiles and seems to mean it but she doesn't get up to hug him, or hover over him, or anything.

Percy looks at me next, his expression completely unreadable. Beyond that he definitely looks like the Percy Weasley I knew from school, complete with neatly pressed robes and impenetrable glasses, an expression on his face between a scowl and a frown. All he's missing is a couple schoolbooks.

"Oliver." He manages to make my name a greeting, a question, and a statement all at once.

"Er, hello Percy. I came to visit while the team is taking a break. Your mom insisted I stay."

"Quite right. It's very dangerous out there."

Percy's attention falls away from me long enough for him to look at his mother. Something about his expression seems reproachful.

Have I ever mentioned I don't know when to keep my mouth shut? Well, I don't.

"I hope you don't mind, I've been staying in your room. It's just the twins destroyed their room and are staying in your older brothers' room."

An eyebrow arches up briefly. "I see."

I'm almost afraid he does. "I was thinking about leaving today."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Don't let me run you out." And with that cryptic comment he tightens his hold on a bag I hadn't noticed before and moves toward the stairs.

I turn back to my breakfast slowly and actually manage to sit there for several minutes before I get up and excuse myself from the table, already moving up the stairs to Percy's room. He's left his door partially open, and if it's not an invitation then it's at least consent for me to continue into the room. His bag is open on the bed and he's sorting through the clothing packed neatly inside. I try to peek inside but all I see are Ministry appropriate robes and shadows.

"Close the door, please."

I shut the door silently and then stand with my back against it.

"How have you been, Oliver?" he asks casually, crossing the length of the room to the closet with an armful of robes.

"Decent. I've been working hard."

"Enjoying yourself?"

"To an extent."

He busies himself with hanging up the robes carefully.

"How have you been?" I ask at last, at a loss for what more I can say.

"Busy."

"How are things at work?"

"Busy."

"Oh. I take it that... you're quite busy then," I finish lamely, staring at the back of his head.

"Quite."

I frown slightly. That's it, just 'quite'? The Percy I know would have jumped on that seconds after I'd said it and tease me until I practically would have had to beg him to stop. "How are you feeling, Perce?"

"Rather well, Oliver. A bit travel weary, but other than that I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"Good."

He makes a sound, one of those 'I'm acknowledging that you've spoken' noises. I cross my arms and stare at the back of his head, really lost now. I've just told him I felt good and he hasn't corrected me yet, which is beyond strange considering I know for a fact the well and good mix up is one of his personal pet peeves.

He turns in the process of shrugging the robe he's wearing off and stops moving when he sees my face. "What?"

"I feel good."

"That's nice, Oliver."

"Good."

His gaze is totally uncomprehending.

"Good, Perce. I just said I felt good."

"And I'm glad to hear that, Oliver."

"But good... I'm using improper grammar and you're not going to say anything about it?"

His breath comes out in a little exasperated puff and he finishes pulling the robe off, revealing a rather rumpled pair of cotton pants of some sort and a simple blue pullover shirt. He turns back to the closet to hang up the robe he'd just shed, leaving it on the outside of the closet door.

"Heavens, Oliver. If you haven't learnt how to use well and good by now there's no point in my wasting my breath to correct you."

If he'd been teasing, or even just exasperated, I doubt those words would bother me. But there's just something too chilly about his tone of voice when he says them for me to ignore.

"I was just-."

"You were just seeking attention," he interrupts, crossing back to the bed again and moving his bag off of it. He scowls at the rumpled state of the bed and pulls the blanket off, in the process dislodging the stuffed rabbit from wherever it'd fallen to when I'd gotten up and hastily made the bed.

"I wasn't."

"You were not what?"

"I was not seeking attention," I tell him. "It's just- a person comes to expect certain things, old patterns."

He rolls his shoulders as if his back is stiff and straightens slowly, picking up the rabbit and examining it. After a minute he tosses it to the foot of the bed. "I'm tired, Oliver," he says, not turning to look at me. There's something about the way that he says it that makes me feel as if there's some deeper meaning to the words I should see. If there is I can't see it.

"Why don't you get some sleep, then?"

His fingertips brush the sheets of the bed lightly, in an almost absent sort of way, like he's not really aware that he's doing it. "Yes, Oliver, I think I will."

"All right then. I'll, uh, just leave you to take a nap."

"Thank you."

I turn to the door, feeling a bit confused about the last couple minutes when he speaks again softly. "And Oliver, well is an adjective when in reference to the state of one's health. If you use good you're implying that you're skilled at something. I doubt that you're skilled at your state of health."

There's no real feeling behind the words, nothing heartfelt, only letters placed together and put out as dry sentences with no meaning beyond the obvious. That's almost worse than him just letting it go. I bite my lip, one of those nervous habits that crops up when I'm not sure about something, and then I nod slightly.

"I'll remember that, Perce."

I give him a moment to respond and when I'm met with silence beyond his breathing I open the door and slip out, close it behind me firmly, and then lean against it.

There's something wrong here, more than what's apparent. I just don't know what.


	12. 11: Oliver Heads Off

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. Weasley household. Previously chapter 12. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Oliver Heads Off

* * *

I'm still not sure how I managed to let the twins drag me out and onto a broomstick before I left. Oh yeah, that's right, all that whining about wanting tips from a professional Quidditch player. What can I say; I'm a glutton for praise just as much as the next person.

Stretching out carefully, I tilt my head back to study the mid-afternoon sky and then let my eyes drop down to my feet where my bag and broom are settled. I don't think I'm leaving anything behind, and if I am I'm sure someone will track me down and send it to me.

"Oliver."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?" I smile at her as she comes scurrying out of the house, holding a small package in one hand.

"You're going off to London to join your teammates, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh good. Could you be a love and drop this off at Percy's flat for me. I meant to give it to him before he left but I completely forgot."

I take the package out of habit, and then the words sink in. Percy left? "Percy has a flat in London?"

"Yes."

She doesn't seem to be ready to volunteer any more information on that. "Why did he come here then? I was under the impression from the way everyone acted and the things that you said that he still lived here."

"He did until just recently, after this past school year." Her features seem to have frozen into a mask of pleasantness. "And then he moved out, he wanted to be closer to his work. Percy is such a dedicated young man."

"Then why did he come back here instead of going to his flat?"

"He was supposed to visit for the weekend before he was called away. We don't see him that often. When he came back he was going to stay with us for a couple days but he had to leave, pressing business to be attended he said. Packed right back up and left."

"I was given the impression he was away and that he lived at home, though."

"I did say it was only recently, didn't I? Just habit, I guess, especially with him coming around to visit again."

I open my mouth but no words come out. It occurs to me that Mrs. Weasley is skillfully avoiding the question while answering it at the same time, though I can't imagine why. I look to the package she's handed over; surprisingly heavy for the fact it fits in one hand easily. There are no identifying marks on it save the Burrow's address and Percy's name.

"Do you have his address?" I ask after a moment.

"You don't have Percy's address?"

She seems rather surprised by this. I'm beginning to think that there is something very serious bothering her because the Mrs. Weasley I have come to know these past few days wouldn't have been surprised that I don't have his address knowing that I didn't even know he had a flat.

Maybe I'm just losing my mind.

"No, Mrs. Weasley."

"Let me write that down for you, then. Do you know London well enough to find it, you think?"

"Muggle London?"

"Well, I've never been there but he tells me it's something of a mix." She frowns slightly.

"I'm sure I won't have any trouble."

She hustles back inside, snapping something at one of the twin's on the way. My eyes fall to the package again and not seeing any warnings for it to stay upright I turn it over slowly in my hands. As far as I can tell the contents of the package don't shift at all. A stain on the bottom catches my eye. It's a rusty brown color, really out of place on the otherwise clean and faultless packaging.

Mrs. Weasley's return startles me. "Here you go, Oliver."

"Oh, uh, thank you."

"Are you sure you're well enough to Apparate there?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And you're sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you'd rather not take Floo Powder to Diagon Alley?"

"Mrs. Weasley, thank you, but I'll be fine," I tell her firmly.

"And you have all your things?"

"Yes."

"All right. Well, if you need anything..."

"I'll let you know."

"Be safe, Oliver."

"You too, Mrs. Weasley."

She stands there waiting expectantly. I kneel long enough to tuck the package carefully into my bag, thank goodness the majority of my stuff has been decreased in size or it wouldn't fit, and then I stand, bag in one hand and broom in other. I concentrate and twist on heel, and as I feel that familiar pull around my stomach, quite like a portkey's effects, I wonder who I pissed off in a previous life for all this weird stuff to keep happening to me.


	13. 12: The Pub

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. A muggle pub. Previously chapter 13. (Edited March 07)

* * *

The Pub

* * *

I'm of the opinion that after a stressful day there is nothing like a good drink to calm the nerves. Or two. Or three.

I focus blearily at the empty glasses on my table and tick them off on my fingers as I count them. Or seven.

There's this joke: What's a Quidditch player in his time off?

The answer? Drunk.

Apparently. I'm going out of my way to prove this. I'm waffling currently between blaming Percy and blaming the world in general. Unfortunately, I'm still not drunk enough yet to convince myself that naturally if I choose to go swimming in this delightful amber liquid swirling around and around and around…

Damn.

I sigh heavily and put the half empty glass down carefully.

I wish I could blame this lack of, well, everything really on the drinking, but being the good Quidditch player that I am I've built up a nice tolerance to this delightful stuff they call alcohol. Besides, Muggle alcohol has nothing on the stuff you find in the Wizarding World.

No, this disturbing lack in all of my higher functions, such as brain activity for prolonged periods of time, can be placed right at Percy's feet. Ah ha, something I can blame on the redhead, even if it's a bit indirectly.

It's not as if he's done something, per se, it's as simple and as completely inane as he exists, exists and barely acknowledges that I do the same- exist that is. How bizarre is that?

And to top the miserable day off I'm hallucinating now, isn't that great? I swear to Merlin that I'm hearing…

I _am_ hearing Percy's voice.

"Hello, guys."

"Hey, Red's back."

"Thought you were visiting family, Red?"

"Sod off, Pete. And you're in my seat."

"If it ever was your seat you lost it by default when you kept disappearing for that tournament. Good work on that by the way, I'm very impressed."

"Just a shame we didn't get anything out of it."

"Hey, push off, go sit on your boyfriend's lap."

"I must insist that I have no idea to whom you might be referring."

There's a loud snort.

"He's going all Weatherby on us now. Habits must be hard to break, eh?"

"Please."

"Where's Lewis?"

"Off getting Red here a real drink."

"First day back in the office and you're sending me off with a hangover. You're all so very kind."

"Oh, so you haven't heard?"

"When would he have heard? He's been pulled this way and that for months now. Here's your drink."

"And loving every minute of it, I bet, you work whore."

"Sod off. What haven't I heard?"

"New assignment. We're branching out a bit. You'll get the details tomorrow when you go in. And if you do have a hangover you'd best stop off and see Susan before you come up."

"You do realize that Susan is a mediwitch, right?"

"What's your point, Red?"

"People usually don't go to mediwitches for hangovers."

"It'll be a good change of pace for her, seeing you for something she doesn't have to stitch, bandage, or splint."

"Or cure."

There's a loud guffaw.

"Hey, Alex, Dick's here."

"In that case me and Red will leave you to his good hands. Don't get into any trouble without me."

"Trouble? Without you? What would be the fun in that?"

"Have a good time, Red."

"Like rabbits, those two. Where do they find time to sleep?"

"We forgot to ask Red about the package."

"Catch him tomorrow."

"Speaking of sleep, I need to get some. That entire Norway debacle took it out of me. I think I'll be limping for days to come."

"I did tell you to let Red handle it."

"Do something useful and help me up."

The voices become little more than a buzz as chairs shift and then they fade away. I look down at my half empty glass feeling kind of sick. Moral of the story: best stay away from Muggle pubs near Percy's flat.


	14. 13: The Cafe

Warnings: None that need stated.

AN: A little over a year later. A cafe. Previously chapter 14. (Edited March 07)

* * *

The Cafe

* * *

I need coffee.

Its awful, bitter stuff but it really does the job of putting my world into perspective the morning after a drinking binge. What perspective that is I really couldn't tell you, but it puts it in some perspective and that's more than I had to begin with.

At least it's not a painfully cheerful and sunny day. It's kind of dark and overcast with the promise of showers later. Just about how I feel, as a matter of fact. With my luck, though, knowing how awful I must look at the moment, someone is going to recognize who I am. Doesn't matter I'm just on the reserve team, I'll be recognized. It's some sort of curse.

"Oliver Wood."

And the world may safely keep turning. At least the speaker is female; I'm not sure how I would have handled it if it'd been a cute guy…

I turn, gripping my coffee in one hand, smile plastered on my face. I hope it's a smile, at least. Feels like a smile. If nothing else it's a smile-like grimace. "Hello."

"You don't remember me, do you?" She takes a bite of her toast.

Now that she mentions it she does look familiar: sharp features, dark eyes, dark hair pulled back in some sort of twisty bun thing. The twisty bun thing isn't familiar, though it could be. But yes, very familiar.

"Penelope." She smiles. "Clearwater." She gestures to the chair beside her. "Have a seat. You look like I just hit you in the face with a board."

I sink down; coffee gripped in both hands until I realize the cup's just too damn hot for me to be holding it like that. When I put it on the table she wrinkles her nose at it but doesn't comment. And then she nonchalantly takes another bite of her toast.

My mouth finally manages to work. "I remember you, yes." How could I not? I'd seesawed between terrified and resigned for months at the thought of Percy and Penelope's growing friendship, and what it was growing into, until Percy had laid my fears to rest. Then I just did my damnedest to ignore her existence.

She's been studying me with a knowing smile on her face. I hate when females do that. I decide, uncharitably I know, that I really hate that expression on her face. "I wasn't sure if you would or not. I certainly remember you. Your name was every other word out of Percy's mouth for the longest time."

I wince at hearing his name.

She clucks her tongue. "Percy troubles? I know how that feels. And it looks like you're suffering from a Percy hangover."

The look on my face must be enough.

"I've seen the look enough times on my own face. Sort of. At least, I know what a long, hard night is courtesy of knowing Percy Weasley." She takes a little nibble of her toast. "So, how did you fall into the mess that is Percy Weasley?"

Mess is right. Oh, wait, she's referring to Percy, not me. "Visiting his family."

She raises her eyebrows. "Visiting his family? Oh, but you were friends with his younger brothers, right? From Quidditch." I catch the little nose wrinkle at the word Quidditch.

"Yes."

"And you play Quidditch now, if I remember correctly. You always were pretty good. Is it the off season or are you just taking a holiday?"

"Week off."

"So, you went to stay with the Weasleys?" She lifts her brows again.

"No." I want to leave it at that. I take a sip of still too-hot coffee. Her eyebrows stay up. "I stopped by to say hello." I don't have enough sleep for more weirdness today, I decide. "Somehow I was sucked into staying for several days. Hadn't really meant to."

"Ah." She gives me a little smile. "They've always been a very warm and loving family."

I scowl. I try to cover it with a sip of coffee.

"You don't think so?"

"I didn't get the impression they were very warm and loving when they were talking about Perce."

She's silent a moment, studying me again, and then she gives me a small nod. "Tell me, did you ever visit Percy and his family before you graduated from Hogwarts?"

I wince internally. I'm not sure why. "No."

She gives me another little nod, this one of understanding. "Then I can see where you would think them cold and distant toward him, because they are now. But they weren't always like that. If you'd chanced to see them together before we all left Hogwarts you would have known they really did love each other, even if they weren't certain how to go about showing it. Percy always was reserved, and his parents respected that." She sets her half eaten toast down. "His parents are at their wits end as far as Percy's concerned now."

I frown a little.

"It's Percy. He's changed. He completely dropped off the face of the earth after Hogwarts and when he came back he was different. We met up again not too long after he came back. It was very subtle at the first, this change, I didn't notice anything amiss for months, but when I did notice I was, well, shocked. This person wasn't the Percy Weasley I'd known before. This was a stranger."

I take a careful sip of the coffee. It's almost unpleasantly warm instead of hot. I take a larger sip. "He didn't drop off the face of the earth," I say after a moment. "He went to America. Some sort of further study. Then he came back and visited his brothers."

"When did you hear that?"

"He told me before he left. He didn't tell you?" I take an oddly gleeful satisfaction in that and I blame it on the hangover, or perhaps the coffee, but I can't help but make a biting comment. "I would have figured he would have told his girlfriend."

"Friend." She presses her lips together in a tight line. "I was his friend. He didn't ask me out until after he came back."

I make a vague noise. I almost want to apologize, that had to have stung more than she's letting on, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I think it's because for all that she bemoans not having a chance with Percy at Hogwarts -shut up, I'm allowed to be melodramatic, I'm suffering from a hangover- she got him in the end anyway. I push away from that thought and focus instead on my coffee. Such a strange looking liquid, really, coffee.

Penelope taps her nails lightly against the table. I glance down at them, then back to my cup. "We were just friends back at Hogwarts, and we're just friends now."

"I thought you just said he asked you out?"

"And you're thinking I didn't belong in Ravenclaw if he asked me out and I turned him down?"

I nod a little dumbly.

"Ravenclaw through and through, I'm afraid. Make no mistake. I jumped at the chance. It lasted a week at the most." She half shrugged. "I kissed him once back at Hogwarts, told him how much I cared for him, and he told me I wasn't his type. It didn't take me long to figure out his type was of the broom flying kind." Her mouth twists just a little for a moment. "In a way that week was sort of a repeat of that."

"Oh…"

Her mouth settles into a wry smile. "Really, as intelligent as I am… I should have figured that something wasn't quite right when he reappeared and shortly thereafter asked me out. I should have realized I was just this safe object he could latch onto and he wouldn't have to get emotionally involved with me. Can't have that, oh no." She's silent a moment, studying me. "I guess I was too blinded by my own emotions to see the reality. But the reality was there all along."

Something isn't quite adding up… "I'm not sure I understand."

She shrugs and pulls out a pack of fags, taps one out and lights it. "You're not the only one. Can I give you some advice?" She lets out a long stream of smoke and continues before I find my voice. "Get out before you're in over your head. The Percy Weasley you knew doesn't exist anymore."

She gives me another smile, one of those female smiles that always make me wonder what great secret the opposite sex has going on the rest of the population is barred from knowing. No wonder I'm gay.

And the coffee's just right. About damn time.


	15. 14: Burrow Visit Gone Awry

Warnings: Some OCC. Language (F word, mainly). Slight violence.

AN: A little over a year later. The Burrow. Previously chapter 15. From here on out people will likely notice that certain characters seem Out Of Character. And I will say that yes, they are. But at the same time, they aren't. If you hold on long enough at some point the back story will come up and things should be explained. (Edited March 07)

* * *

Burrow Visit Gone Awry

* * *

Have I ever mentioned that I have trouble letting things go once I've got my teeth into them? Yeah, I'm working on that problem, but until I manage to actually break myself of the habit…

That's why I'm standing at the kitchen door to the Burrow, debating on whether or not I should be back here and trying to figure out… something. No idea what. I just know there's something to figure out. And it seems to involve my favorite Weasley.

In truth, I've been worrying about him just a little from the few things the twins have mentioned in their occasional letter to me. That entire Triwizard Tournament thing – the less said the better. I don't think too many people know all that many details, but the little I have heard…

Harry, of course. Poor kid never gets a break. And the You-Know-Who thing… No idea how to even begin thinking about that…

And Percy. Something about his boss being under a curse, all hush hush at the moment, job might be in jeopardy, the Minister himself is upset about it all and… All around things just aren't looking up.

I shuffle my feet and consider the door in front of me.

I'm beginning to wonder… After hearing from the twins about Percy being involved in the Triwizard Tournament business it seemed pretty logical to me that he'd been pulled onto the project in some way. And of course that's all hush, hush, can't have the wrong people getting a hold of that sort of information. And… well, distancing himself from his family would have meant a less of a chance of the Triwizard Tournament slipping out and getting around. Much as I love the Weasleys some of them would have loved to spread that information in all innocence the moment they got hold of it…

My theories aren't holding up too well now, though, as I study them and poke at a few holes I'd been ignoring all this time.

I bring my hand up to knock on the door, and then just let my knuckles rest there lightly.

The only real thing remaining of my monster hangover from this morning is a slight twinge of a headache if I move my head too fast. But while the hangover is gone the brief conversation I'd heard the night before most certainly isn't.

Percy's got a boyfriend? Back in the office? A change of pace for a mediwitch, not having to bandage, heal, cure, whatever something? Should have let Percy handle _Norway_? A _boyfriend_?

I rap hard on the door before I can talk myself into or out of anything further. And then I wait. And shuffle my feet. And stuff my hands in my pockets. And shuffle my feet a little more. It feels like forever and I don't even hear anything inside. Maybe it's for the best. A sign. Stick to Quidditch and leave strange acting Percys alone.

Right. Good decision. I turn around and begin to head away from the house, but I only manage a half dozen steps before I hear the door open and a very unhappy Molly Weasley snaps out a, "What?"

I turn slowly, mind racing for some way to un-irritate her or something. But when she sees me her scowl dissolves and she pats her frazzled hair a moment before beginning to try and tuck her hair back behind her ears and out of the way.

"Hello, Oliver. Sorry about snapping like that. The twin's have turned Ginny into a canary. Things are a bit out of sorts. Please, come in, before she finds a way to escape."

I twist around and jog back up to the door and inside swiftly. Mrs. Weasley closes the door just as a rather large yellow canary comes careening down the stairs -flight erratic- smacks into a wall, and then staggers into the next room.

"Fred!" she bellows at the stairs. "George! Come catch your sister!" She gives me a smile as frazzled as her hair. "I do so wish they would apply themselves to something else. They're so intelligent."

At that moment Fred and George come pounding down the stairs bearing pillowcases, not bothering to hide their elation. They come to a skidding halt at the foot of the stairs, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet in badly suppressed excitement.

"Don't know how she found them, Mum."

"Or why she'd eat it."

"We swear."

"We really don't know."

"But look at the results."

"It's wicked."

"I am looking at the results," Mrs. Weasley snapped, eyes flashing. "And I'm seeing a wicked summer of degnoming the garden!"

"Aw, Mum."

"And I am cleaning your room out tonight!"

"Aww, Mum."

"Now catch your sister! And you'd _better_ be nice about it or I'll turn you two into canaries and let her go at you with pillowcases."

"Awww, Mum."

They catch sight of me cowering, er, standing behind their mother.

"Heya Ol!"

"Can't talk."

"Gotta catch the bird."

"Don't run away."

They disappear into the next room.

Mrs. Weasley turns to me, all smiles again, though she still looks frazzled. I don't blame the poor woman. "Now, dear, did you need something?"

I wrench my attention away from the open doorway with quite a bit of difficulty. It's all a bit like a Quidditch collision. A person knows it's going to be bad and they should look away but they just can't help but gape as the disaster unfolds.

"Um. Oh. I just – left something. In Percy's room."

"Oh, well, that shouldn't be-."

She's interrupted by a great amount of squawking from the next room over, and then-

"She pecked me! She pecked me! Give me that pillowcase!"

"No, wait, here."

"By Merlin! George!"

"Fred!"

"My hand's turning yellow."

"By Merlin! Your hand's turning yellow."

"I know, I just said that."

"That shouldn't do that. That makes no sense."

"Maybe it was the last change we made to the recipe."

"It's starting to wear off."

"Get her to peck you again. We have to see if it was a fluke."

"You get her to peck you."

"Right, bad idea. Hey, think we can do that with other colors?"

"Maybe. Or maybe have the colors keep changing?"

"Or patterns! A polka dot canary."

"And if the person pecks anyone a polka dot hand."

"Should see if it will affect more than just the immediate area pecked."

"And have the changes stay on the person-turned-canary after they change back!"

Mrs. Weasley is slowly turning the same color as her hair. I've seen her blow up once; I don't want to see it again.

"Mrs. Weasley," I say quickly. "I'll show myself to the room, eh. And I'll find my way out too, if you're busy."

"Oh yes, just fine, Oliver." She gives me a distracted nod, drawing herself up as she turns to face the other room. "Do let me know if you can't find what you're looking for…"

"Of course." I take to the stairs two at a time as she moves to the next room and reach Percy's door just as the shouting begins. His door won't open for a minute and I fear he's got it locked as I jiggle it somewhat desperately to no avail. But then it finally gives and I push it open and into the room quickly.

"-And Frederick-!"

"-I'm George, Mum-!"

"I absolutely cannot _believe_ you two are _throwing_ your _sister_ around like she's a _quaffle_. Put her down _this instant_, and do not drop her! I swear I will-."

I fall back against the closed door with a sigh. Not even a whisper of the chaos that must be occurring downstairs can be heard. After a moment I open my eyes and look around the room, seeing nothing really changed since my last visit.

I take a minute to catch my breath, just letting my eyes wander. Am I really considering this, I wonder? Am I really going to snoop around in Percy's room? Is my curiosity really enough to justify this?

'_The Percy you know doesn't exist anymore.'_

'_That entire Norway_ _debacle took it out of me. I think I'll be limping for days to come.' 'I did tell you to let Red handle it.'_

'_I am concerned of course, but not overly. Percy... knows how to stay well out of the heart of trouble.'_

I push away from the door with new resolve. If Percy's in over his head in something, or trapped in a bad situation, or in with a bad crowd, well… who else is there to come and rescue him?

A knight in shining armor, an insidious little voice in the back of my mind mocks. And he'll be oh so grateful for the rescue.

I hate that little voice.

"But what if he needs help?" I ask myself, moving with some hesitancy to the closet. I open it to reveal nothing but standard Ministry robes, and naturally some dull dark blue and gray casual robes as well as one set of dress robes in the very back. "And even if he doesn't there's definitely something going on, no denying that." Beyond the dress robe there's nothing tucked away in the back, nothing that doesn't look like it belongs there at any rate. I poke through them all the same, remembering the dream – hallucination? midnight visit? – of a Percy in jeans and a tight shirt.

Just robes. I even poke about in any available pockets. There's not even so much as a sweet wrapper or scrap of paper. I close the closet doors.

I don't even consider the desk, not at the moment at least. It feels too much like invading his privacy. And now I feel like an idiot. What am I doing now, if not invading his privacy?

I prod around the dresser, gently shuffling through a few drawers. Patched cotton pants and long sleeved shirts, all in dark or neutral colors, all conservative. Everything's folded so neatly here I can't dig too much, but really, there doesn't seem to be any reason to anyway. I turn away from the dresser with a sigh.

The bed's made – all perfect folds and curves. I almost feel guilty for disturbing it as I drop back onto it, elbows on my knees, staring at my hands.

The room is strangely bare, for all that he lives here… oh. I realize that he doesn't actually live here now. So, really, wouldn't anything important be at this apartment that I never managed to get around to visiting? And thank Merlin for that. I don't even want to imagine visiting while his friend-

I veer away from the thought sharply. None of my business.

Not, of course, that anything in this room is my business either…

I sit up straight with a huff, telling myself that I'm his friend. You don't forget seven years of friendship just because of… whatever this business is. You don't leave a friend behind if you think they're in trouble. But this sneaking around… Maybe I should just talk to him. He might be a bit different but he's still Percy, he'll still talk.

I smile faintly. I can bring him some sugar quills and then- Sugar quills!

I sit up straighter. If there's hardly anything in this room why have that plastic box? With all those newspaper clippings oh so carefully arranged and laid out? And why have sugar quills in there? The box and clippings are one thing, but sugar quills, he wouldn't just leave candy about if he weren't here at least semi-often and into that box at least semi-often…

Bending so I can look under the bed I frown at the plastic box. Still there. I almost expected it to have disappeared. I mean, hell, with the way things have been going for me lately…

It's a small matter to drop to my knees and pull it out. The lid comes off just as easily as it did before. I rock back on my knees to study the contents.

Old Weasley jumpers.

My hands dive into the neatly folded jumpers, completely upsetting everything. All I feel is cloth. Cloth and- I pull it out- the stuffed rabbit.

"What the hell does this mean?"

"You tell me."

My heart can't seem to decide if it wants to lodge in my throat or sink to my knees. Personally I think it's doing more than enough trying to beat itself out of my chest. Oh yes, I recognize that voice. Not quite the tone. But that voice…

See, a little part of my brain says smugly, told you this was a bad idea.

"Er." I wince internally. "Perce… it's not what it looks like."

"So you're _not_ rummaging around in something of mine without permission with no easily apparent reason?"

"Oh. Well. I guess it is what it looks like. Except… I do have a reason. Only, well, it's probably not a good reason as far as you're concerned, so, yeah…" Wincing at my own stupidity I turn around slowly and look up at him.

…Holy fuck.

"You're not Percy."

He smiles, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Not really."

"I mean… Dragon balls! You- you are, but, no, you can't be…"

"What are you doing here, Oliver?"

"Did you _magic_ those jeans on?"

He nudges me with his dragon hide boots. Yes, dragon hide. Damned nice dragon hide. "Could you please focus?" He sounds a little exasperated.

Focus? With him standing there in black jeans that could have been painted on and a clingy- is that silk? - shirt I can practically see through, never mind the fact there's enough buttons undone there's not much left to see…? Not bloody likely!

"I can see you're still the stunning intellectual I remember so well," he says dryly.

Suddenly it occurs to me I'm still on my knees in front of him, and while under normal circumstances… yeah, so not finishing that thought. Ever.

I push myself up slowly and brush my pants off unnecessarily. A little thought that's been wiggling about in the back of my mind since he spoke jumps up and down several times waving a big red banner that reads 'LOOK AT ME'.

"…Perce, what are you doing here?"

"It is my room."

"Yeah, but, you don't live here anymore. It's kind of funny, you know, that you're suddenly here…"

He sighs. He suddenly sounds a little weary. "Not funny at all. How did you get in?"

"Well. Your mom answered the door and when she went to yell at the twins for turning Ginny into a canary she said for me to just show myself in…" More or less.

He considers that a moment. "They turned Ginny into a canary?"

"Well, not on purpose, or at least I don't think on purpose. Didn't sound like it was on purpose."

"That's beside the point." He shakes his head but I think I can still see a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. The fact he's not wearing his glasses is a little shock unto itself (like that dream that can in no way be a dream unless I'm somehow dreaming and I really seriously doubt I'm dreaming oh but what a dream…)

He continues on, heedless of the fact my brain has started to shut down. "How did you get into my room?"

"Er. Oh. Well, I opened the door."

"Just like that? Opened the door?"

"Well, yeah."

He studies me quite seriously a moment. "Come on, Oliver. It's time for you to leave." He takes me by the elbow – grip very firm, I notice – and moves me toward the door. "We are most definitely going to have a little talk later."

He sounds like Mrs. Weasley… "Okay."

We're almost too the door when he curses quietly under his breath and pushes me away from him – very strong push, I can't help but notice – right onto the bed. He snaps something about not doing anything stupid as he kicks the plastic container under the bed and then darts over to a corner, where he seems to melt into the shadows.

Something changes in the room then, though I'd be hard pressed to say what, a strange almost pressure all over accompanied by a feel like we're all being popped out of something… And I'm left gaping in the aftermath, still sprawled awkwardly on the bed and staring in a horror that's hit my instincts but that my brain hasn't yet gotten figured out…

There's another man in the room. He looks huge. Hulking huge. But maybe it's fear. He's all in black. All black and he has a white mask…

Oh holy fuck fuck _fuck_…

And the hulk is lifting the wand, right at me, and my life is flashing before my eyes as my brain suddenly catches up with the current events and just as I try and force my body to do something other than hold rigid in fear Percy suddenly appears behind the beast and he's hefted his desk chair and he brings it down, down, down three times in a row onto the man's back, sending the man to his knees with a grunt and groan and then another groan as he topples forward and onto his side. The chair gives a warning creak as Percy lifts it again and he pauses, watching the man through narrowed eyes. When the man doesn't so much as twitch Percy gives a disdainful little sniff and puts the chair down, casually stepping on the man's hand nearest the wand as he gives the chair a somewhat concerned once over, as if he's actually worried about the state of his chair and how stable it's going to be to sit in now…

I wisely keep my mouth shut. If I don't I'll probably be talking gibberish. Or start laughing hysterically. Percy and violence just don't mesh well in my mind. Apples and oranges.

He spares me a considering glance and then as casual as can be lifts his wand and points it at me. He mutters something, all I feel is a brief stab of fear, fear I can barely breathe around, and then it's like my entire body falls asleep. My eyes grow heavy, and then dark…

I think I hear him, somewhere far away, but it can't be, not in that soft, strange tone of voice, not like that…

"…What a mess, Ollie."


End file.
